Page 110 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“It would have been the right thing to do,” I say as I look her in the eyes.
She glances away, staring down at her lap. “You don’t need to apologize, Cole.”
“I do. I really should have checked. That was shitty of me.”
“Cole,” she says, a note of trepidation in her voice. “You owe me nothing. It’s not like we’re friends, right?”
Yeah…I guess we’re not.
I look out toward the snow pelting my windshield, the wetter flakes dragging streaks of water across the glass and collecting on my wipers.
“Right, Cole?” she says again, almost sounding unsure. “We’re not friends.”
I bring my attention back to her. “We were…a while back.”
Her lips press together as she slowly nods. “We were. I miss that side of us.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. “Yeah, me too.” And then because the mood seems to be tense, I say, “You know, we do have a good rapport going on in town. Everyone seems to think we get along just fine. Maybe we’re friends and we don’t know it.”
I glance at her and catch the way the corner of her lip tilts up, joining me in lightening the mood. “I mean, itisfriendly of you to stop by my car on the side of the road and check on me.”
“That was awfully kind of me,” I reply with a grin.
“So are you trying to tell me that maybe, possibly, we might be friends?”
I shrug. “Isn’t that what they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“Yes, but there needs to be a third involved for that to be true. So if both of us were enemies with Atlas, then we would be friends.”
“I see. Then perhaps the candy canes will be our enemy today, which then would make us friends.”
“From what I heard about candy cane making, I have a feeling that might be true,” she replies, relaxing into her seat, crossing one leg over the other.
“Are you warm?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, you could probably turn down the heat. I’m sure you’re hot.”
“Yeah, I’m about to sweat out of my flannel,” I say as I turn down the dial.
She chuckles. “You know, you can be kind of funny when you allow it. Reminds me of our conversations when we were younger.”
“Ah, so you do remember me,” I say. “Here I thought I was Connor to you.”
“That was a stupid joke that didn’t quite hit the way I thought it would. And then of course I saw how irritated it made you, and I just…kept going. Who knows why.”
“Because you’re the instigator. I recall you driving your sister crazy when we were younger…and me for that matter,” I say, thankful the snow is lightening up as we head over the mountain pass. Clayton is not that far away now.
“I still drive her crazy. And apparently you as well.”
“Seems to be a theme with you,” I say.
“Guess once an instigator, always an instigator.” She turns slightly toward me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Depends,” I say as I switch on the radio, letting Christmas instrumentals lightly play in the background. I feel like I’m transported back to ten years ago when conversation flowed easily with her.
“Depends on what?” she asks.
“If I want to answer the question or not. I have the right to veto.”
